


Wounds Not Meant to Heal

by blissfullylostinarabbithole



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-02 21:29:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11517843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blissfullylostinarabbithole/pseuds/blissfullylostinarabbithole
Summary: Dean’s your soulmate, but through the soul visions, you fall for Sam.





	Wounds Not Meant to Heal

**Author's Note:**

> Soulmate AU I don’t know what this one is called (if it has a name), but it’s where you get glimpses of your soulmate’s life through their pov in dreams. So unless they’re really vain, it’s rare you actually see them, if that makes sense.

There were a lot of reasons why Dean never slept, and had to drink himself stupid to get through it when he did. Sam had always assumed it was nightmares, or he didn’t like being unaware. Only once had he let it slip that the main thing keeping him up was guilt. Again, Sam made assumptions as to what lay so heavily on his brother’s conscience.

Dean had ruined your life before he ever even met you, and he’d never forgive himself for it. First it was your drawings; bloody scenes, black eyed people, hideous creatures, all of them eerily familiar to him. Then he got images of the concerned look on who he figured to be your parents’ faces, and office after office of people with clipboards. He wished you would just keep what you saw to yourself, but he knew you must have been young if you didn’t realize it.

He woke up in a cold sweat, a scream caught in his throat at what he’d just seen. You were led to a small room with nothing but a bed, a desk, and a chair. Your parents, rather than heartbroken, looked terrified. Your mother handed you the stuffed purple elephant Dean saw often, before your father quickly led her out.

Their infrequent visits only lasted about six months before they only contacted you by phone. Even then, those stopped not long after. As much as Dean wanted to be angry at your parents, he knew the blame was his and his alone. Time passed, and all he ever saw from you was awful food, therapy sessions, and pale yellow walls. He hated that the only splash of color in your life was provided by the elephant on your bed. A couple of years later, he’d see something that made his blood run cold; a piece of paper with the words ‘HELP ME’ written in crayon.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

You woke with a start at the knocking on your door. You barely had time to register the orderly reminding you of your session before your anger took you over. Another night of drinking and the company of a random woman. There was no love lost for your soulmate, not anymore, yet it still pained you after all these years whenever your dreams were graced by yet another of his women. You chalked it up to the curse of having a soulmate, and were convinced you’d feel nothing but revulsion for him otherwise.

At the very least, he could have given you a look at his shaggy haired companion. You’d watched him grow up, so you supposed they were related. As your esteem for your soulmate diminished, your love for the other one grew.

The orderly handed you a toothbrush and supervised as you washed up. That was another thing that made you furious; you were still stuck in this place. Your first few years inside, you’d go to the rec room to write messages to him and concentrate hard on them, hoping to project them into his dreams. You told him who you were, where you were, and begged him to help you. He never came. Instead, you got brief looks of a growing collection of women.

You didn’t blame him for your parents checking you in. That was by your own hand for being dumb enough to believe people when they said you could trust them. It wasn’t his fault, but you couldn’t help the bitterness that settled into you when you realized he, like your parents, were happy to just leave you here to rot. You tried to calm yourself as you headed to another useless session so you could see if any new books had been brought in. The orderly knocked on the door to Kadinsky’s office, and you were ushered in and gestured to a seat across a desk.

“Y/N,” the doctor smiled widely. “How are you feeling today?”

“Fine,” you didn’t bother slapping on a fake smile.

“Did you sleep well?” He was already scribbling, even though you’d only said one word.

“I did.”

“Good.” He set the pen down and folded his hands in front of him, bringing all his attention to you. “I’d like to revisit the topic of your dreams, those of your soul visions to be precise.”

You internally groaned. He insisted on treating it like as if there’s been any changes in what you’d said. “Nothing. Again. I think he may be dead.”

“And why do you say that?” he asked for the umpteenth time.

“Because I don’t see anything. Dreams are normal dreams, and it feels empty. A little cold sometimes, even.” You repeated the same thing every time, and it was the truth. That’s what you had felt when he died, and even though there were people who’d lost their soulmate who could corroborate, and you didn’t say a word when he resurrected, you were  _still_  forced to stay. 

* * *

 


End file.
